Five Years
by TheJediBakerGirl
Summary: /Crowley-centric/ Every five years, a little more or a little less, they came to try and take her away. When they failed, he had to take it into his own hands.


They first arrived when she was fourteen years of age. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a messy braid and her cheeks were streaked with black mascara and tears. Her brown eyes only reflected numbness, no light or happiness swimming within its depths like usual. She was called this morning by a frantic best friend's mother saying to come over immediately. And she did, of course, just to see why her best friend's mother was so panicky. Turns out, her best friend was found in the bathroom with long gashes running from the beginning of her pelvis to her knees. She beld to death on the clean peach tile of her bathroom, and it was all self-inflicted. That was only this afternoon, and now the same fourteen year old girl, who screeched in pain, who convulsed with sobs while holding the dead body of her deader best friend, sat on the end of her best friend's bed, streaked in blood that was not her own. And she would stay right here until someone dragged her numb body out.

"Alana." The girl looked up to see a man with light skin and dirty blonde hair dressed in a casual formal outfit: a dark blue button-up and black jeans and polished loafers. He looked as if he was dressed for a wedding, or in this case, a funeral. She eyed the man suspiciously, not knowing who he was even though he seemed to know her name. She didn't wipe her eyes as he walked forward and sat down next to her on the bed. A friend of her friend's? A family member? Well, the latter was one thing she could knock off the list. Her best friend looked nothing like this man that knew her name. "You my dear, have been through quite a lot," he explained softly, as if he's handled people like her before. Masterful deduction, Sherlock she thought to herself with a sickened smirk. "I'd like to offer you some help." Alan turned. Help, huh? Help wasn't what she needed really. She needed a shower, some food in her stomach; her best friend to walk through that door and tell her it was just a hoax and they could go out tonight to the movies or go buy Henna ink and draw designs all over each other or something. But help sounded like a nice idea right now. Help out of this room. Out of these clothes. Out of this skin that will forever be tinted crimson. "I'm here to offer you help out of this. To give you one more chance, this time to save your best friend. All you do is promise me something in return," the man explained to her, soft and calm and reasonable. Alana stayed silent so she could hear what he wanted in return. "I just need your soul in return for your best friend." And that's where he lost Alana, who furrowed her matching auburn eyebrows. "I know what you're thinking: "'This dude's crazy. I don't have a soul, I'm fourteen.' I promise you sweetie, you do, and all you have to do is promise me it, kiss me to make it official, and you can have your little friend back."  
>Alana almost did it. Without realizing who this guy was, Alana almost signed her soul away to a crossroad daemon. She was fourteen years of age. What stopped the exchange from happening was not Alana herself, but a pastor that had walked over and knocked on the open door. She looked up at the pastor, a thin man dressed in a black suit with the white collar, and when she looked back to the side of the bed where the other man dressed for a funeral was supposed to be, he was gone.<p>

The second account was when she was sixteen years of age. Her auburn hair was long, her brown eyes were bright, and her body was toned from years of sport. Alana was co-captain of the softball team at her high school and had enough going for her to call her life good. She didn't have a boyfriend, but had plenty of friends. She had homework every day except Fridays, and she went out on some weekends. Her parents fought a lot, and her father often left the house, and it hurt a lot. She hated seeing her parents fight. The ice cream her mom would bring in after along with some really good movies were sometimes a nice bring around, but other times, not even handsome actors could make her smile. The second one caught in her in the middle of doing her homework. It wasn't a provoked arrival, they just showed up in the middle of her room and scared the living daylight out of her. And when the offer came up for her parents to never fight again for her soul, she waited a moment before answering.  
>"I looked into this the last time you came around, y'know," Alana told the crossroad daemon – a young man with short, styled black hair and fierce green eyes - as she shut the current book she was reading. "The men who just randomly show up and ask for my soul and a kiss to seal the deal. You, and the guy before you when I was fourteen, are crossroad daemons. You do this to keep whoever you work for happy. I believe Crowley is his name, right?" She tilted her head to the side a little. "King of the Crossroads. Of Purgatory. I remember." She nodded once. The crossroad daemon gave her a hard look, and with a light coat of ask hanging in the air, he was gone.<br>Three months later, Alana still sixteen, she met the king of the crossroads, the king of purgatory, Crowley. In the flesh.  
>She was getting out of softball practice. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail and she was still in her black and blue softball uniform. He was waiting out in front of the lockeroom for her in a more formal attire: dresscoat, slacks, nice polished shoes. He was a little scruffy, but it seemed to work on him. At first, she didn't know who he was. But the minute she looked into his eyes, almost black, she knew it. And yes, she tried to run. She backed away slowly, then turned and tried to make a break for it. But he was a daemon himself, and could transport at will. And with a turn, he was now in front of her, Alana colliding into him and falling to the ground. She knew she was gonna die. With the flick of a wrist she would be splattered all across the high school campus pavement and no one would know until Monday. "Hello love," he greeted her, his voice thick with accent and obvious cockiness. She stayed on the ground, on her butt, at the foot of his black loafers. "I believe you're Alana, is that right?" Something took hold of her, and Alana nodded. "Thought so. You my dear are putting a major kink in my works." He bent down, elbows on his knees, now at a more level position with her. "It's time to give up, lovely little Alana. I've tried to make it easy, when you were hurting, more vulnerable. But now, now you're simply being annoying," he explained, making Alan cock a brow. "Let us have your soul." Well, at least he was one to get to the point. "N-No," she stuttered. "Not now." She sat up, holding herself up with her hands. "I'm sorry, Crowley, sir, but I don't wanna die. Not right now. I have too much to live for. My little sister is about to start high school. My parents are going okay. I might be offered a scholarship soon. I can't leave now." Crowley now cocked a brow. "Can-Can I make a deal with you? It's a different kinda deal though. Come back to me in five years. I'll give you my soul then." Though she didn't promise, that was the first time that Crowley ever struck a deal to not take a life.<p>

Five years later, Crowley himself came to find Alana, who was twenty-one. She had pulled her hair into a low-slung bun, her eyes trained to a laptop screen as her fingers worked over a keyboard. He showed up in the middle of her dorm as she sat on her bed, alone. It was Thursday, a normal party night for college students, and she barely noticed. What got her attention was the smell of sulfur that reeked through the place. She looked up, nose scrunched, noticing Crowley and tilting her head. "Time's up pumpkin."  
>"It's been five years all ready?" she asked casually, smiling wide. "Let's go, Lana." He wasn't ready to play games with her anymore. He was done waiting. The young woman sighed, shut her laptop, and stood, her legs bare all for a pair of tight black shorts that curved with her. "Crowley." Her voice took on a pleading tone, ready to start a lecture on how she was meant to be here. He didn't really care, because he was still admiring her legs. It seemed that softball paid her off. "I... I can't go. Not now. I'm about to major in physiology and I can't just pick up and go. I know I said five years, I know. But I didn't think I would be wrapped up in so much," she explained. She really didn't. "Please." That snapped him back to attention, locking with her brown eyes. They were swarming with fear, with determination. A long stretch of silence came over the pair, Alana not wavering. "I want you in five years. I'm not doing this again." His voice was deadly, venomous. And within three heartbeats, he was gone, the only thing left behind was the reek on sulfur hanging in the air.<p>

Alana was twenty-six, going on seven. An engagement ring was secured on her finger, dark gold against her pale skin. Her auburn hair was almost copper from the summer sunlight that faded the autumn leaves. She was a therapist for girls and young women that have to deal with the death of close friends or family. She made good money, she was smart, and she was well-loved. She married a barista boy from a coffee shop three doors down. Crowley showed up personally again, and this time, he was really ready to take her to purgatory weather she liked it or not. And Alana put up a fight, again.  
>"I can't leave," she explained to him as she leaned against the counter of her apartment kitchen, hair cascading around her face, framing her dark brown eyes and diamond face. Crowley groaned. "You're leaving, like it or not sweetheart. You are mine now and this isn't going to change." He tried to take her arm in his hand, but she pulled away fiercely. "I'm not leaving. Come back in five years." Alana said her words with such force, with such a frighteningly calm tone, that it almost frightened Crowley. "I'm getting married in three months. I am going to have a baby, start a family. I made a deal with you ten years ago. I think you can wait ten more." But he didn't want to. He wanted Alana and her soul to be his and his alone. And this was a bad feeling.<p>

Three months later, Alana walked down a white aisle with a silver tiara nestled within her auburn locks. Family and friends showed up for the occasion, all dressed in light colors and with warm hearts. Crowley purposely made himself visible in passing on purpose, dressed all in black. He watched them cut the cake, have their first dance, and watch her throw the bouquet. Every event, Alana saw him in the corner of her eye, but when she tried to focus on him, he was gone.

Ten years pass, and Alana thinks it's over. She almost came to find seeing Crowley a nice touch to her life. She missed seeing the five o'clock shadow on his face, the brown-almost-black eyes, the snappy wears and the clever quips. It was all really over.  
>She had one daughter within ten years. Her and her husband named their daughter Rebekah. Rebekah Alice. She was ten when there came a knock on the white pine door of Alana's family home. It was a warm fall evening; Daddy was out on a business trip, because he was starting his own coffee company, somewhere in Mississippi. Rebekah got it while mommy got laundry out of the garage dryer. He was wearing a nice dresscoat, slacks, and a nice shiny pair of black shoes. He had a bit of a beard and a very charming smile. He was handsome in a bit of a weird way, but Rebekah couldn't place why it was so weird. Instead, she called for her mommy really loud, as loud as her ten year old voice could bear, until her mother showed up, still curvy and thin and beautiful, just as he seemed to always leave her. All that's changed is the brushing of freckles across the bridge of her nose and dancing across her cheekbones. She dropped the white basket of clothes, letting in a soft gasp and breathing out the name Crowley. "Mommy?" Rebekah asked her, curious and confused. "Upstairs sweetheart. I'm okay. Everything's okay," Alana responded, eyes still on Crowley. He cracked a smile as her daughter bounded upstairs like her mother had asked her.<p>

"What're you doing here?" she finally managed out after the upstairs door had shut. "I came to see my favorite rebel soul," he replied casually, stepping into the home. It was that easy for them to get back into the groove of things? He thought it was going to be. He watched this girl grow up from afar; he probably knew her better than she knew herself. "You're not taking me away. I'm sorry. The deal's off." She shook her head as she said the words, making Crowley gwaff in response. "The deal was never on, dear. You were never going to let me take you away early because you had a life to live. You have a life to live." He shrugged softly, looking about the living area. "So, where is ol' what's-his-name, anyways?" He looked back at his beauty, who was still a bit awestruck by his reappearance. "He's on a business trip. Mississippi. He's gone for the next two weeks," she replied. "Drinks then?" Crowley offered with a smile, and walked himself into the kitchen to pull out her stash of Jack Daniels' and two glasses.  
>Alana only drank a glass. Crowley might've had three or four, but she only had one. Plus she had a high toleration for alcohol. But he had his way that same evening, with Alana pressed hard up against the kitchen wall, his tongue in her mouth, her hips pushed into his, his hands under her shirt, her head absolutely spinning.<br>Hands, tongue, teeth, nails, flesh. He was all over her against the wall and in her bed, the very same that was hers and her husbands, the one she now shared with a daemon. Alana would turn into a daemon herself, using teeth and nails and primal noises would come from her she didn't even know she could create. Self control was thrown out the window, and with a head in between her thighs she would lose it and writhe under him, hands pulling against his thick black hair, his name the only coherent thing coming from her mouth. And when she collapsed under him, heart hammering and hands still shaking, he pulled her into his arms and held her like a porcelain doll, almost afraid to break her.  
>And in the morning, he was gone, Alana finding streaks of ash painting her naked skin in the pale morning sunlight. An indication that all of that feeling, the lust and primal affection, was real. That it was always there.<br>Two weeks later, her husband came home. She forgot that how he was religious, but Rebekah had said something about a boy named Crowley coming over to see Mommy, and he lost it. She fucked a monster. She was a sinner, he screamed at her, and she deserved the fate she was destined with. Lost it, packed his things, and left. Rebekah was in her room sobbing. It was Alana and her childhood all over again. For a good hour she had to comfort her daughter with soothing more then petting her hair and holding her in her lap. For an hour, she realized that it was over. It was done. She still had Rebekah, and she was going to still be a wonderful mother, single or otherwise. But it was over.

Ten years went by, and Alana watched her only daughter grow up. She was forty-six, her birthday on August 23rd. Crowley did the same and made a pact to not send his men after her and her family, himself included. He broke it one time, eight years in.  
>When Crowley popped in, Alana was in her home, folding clothes. It was a cold evening in March. Rebekah lived with her still and was going to community college, which is where she was when he showed up. Her daughter was twenty and looked just like her. He knew that he caused the divorce of Rebekah's parents, and making it worse is not what he wanted. Alana was still beautiful. She looked up with the same brown eyes and smiled softly, and she stopped folding her clothes. "What're you doing here?" she asked, her voice still awestruck like she was twenty all over again. "I can't come and see my rebel soul?" he asked back with a smirk on his lips. She rolled her eyes and laughed at him. A long stretch of silence before Alana said something quietly. "You need to leave please." Her face had lost the awestruck smile, replaced by a stony expression. "Pardon?" Crowley asked her, leaning in slightly. "You need to leave," she said louder, looking up at him. Her eyes were what aged the most, deepening in their feelings, in their purpose. Now, they held resentment, spite. "I can't come to say hello?" he asked in defense, leaning back. There was a flicker of hesitation before she replied. "No." She looked back to her clothes, trying to continue her folding by picking up a piece of clothing, but failing. Silence before a simple, "Why not?" She threw the cloth back into the basket and glared at him, her eyes hurt. "Why are you pushing to get an answer?" Alana asked, her voice rising dramatically. "Why am I such a monumental deal to you? To purgatory? I'm nothing but another soul, I'm nothing but another soul to take from God and the angels." Tears were threatening. With nothing but Alana's hard breathing, another awful long stretch of silence overcame them. She looked back to her basket of clothes and gripped onto the edge. "That's not why you're upset is it?" Crowley finally asked, making her look at him. "You fell in love with me, didn't you?" A laugh, unpromising and mean, escaped her lips. "I never fell in love with you. I just got used to you showing up every five years," she replied with a roll of her eyes. "Liar." She looked over at him, brown eyes cloudy. There it was. She really was lying.<br>And she walked over with a determined stride, and shoved him. Set her hands on his chest and pushed with all of the force she could sum up. And he stumbled back a step or two, and she did it again. She started to babble loudly about how he tore her family apart, how he tore her apart. How she couldn't stand him after he left her brushed in ash in the morning light. Her tears spilled from her eyes during her emotional flit, staining her cheeks red hot and making her breath catch. And she was relentless. Even after her breath was coming in through short gasps and her shoves were slower, she still went at him with all of her might until Crowley caught her about to push him again by the wrists. She shrieked once, trying to break out violently and free herself, before he pulled her against him and moving his hands to pull her face in and lock his lips with her own.  
>That night they spent together, and it was as if he hadn't left that morning when she was younger. He had his complete way with her, and she obliged with a whole heart. Teeth sunk into flesh, nails raked against skin, moans escaping swollen lips. He was inside of her, hard and deep and rough, pinning hands against the mattress as she bucked under him. Alana was never one for self control, so she gave out, screaming his name and her back arching, first.<p>

Alana still seemed to capture his attention even after ten more years go by and Rebekah started a life of her own early on and her mother's auburn hair was streaking lightly with gray. She was obviously aging now; her daughter was leaving more often. A year later, Rebekah moved out and left her mother. The days were lonely, nothing to keep her company. She would keep up a healthy lifestyle, but became withdrawn and anti-social. There were times when she would see her grandson and her daughter and her husband, the perfect photo family. But she was alone without the only two people that ever truly mattered. Crowley was tired of his pact and came to see her.  
>"I'm so lonely," she told him, more muttering to herself than anything. "Rebekah's got her life, her husband, and you've got purgatory. I have an empty house." Alana sighed, gray-auburn hair ruffling away from her face. "Let me take you then," Crowley offered softly, looking at her. "Let me take you to purgatory. I could always use someone a good co-captain." And though it was tempting, sorely tempting, she needed to tell her daughter.<br>And she did, the next night, with Crowley grasping her hand. He thought it was dumb, her holding his hand, because she had been plenty courageous before. But she insisted on it, and when she told Rebekah, her daughter nodded glumly, told her if that was what she wanted, she would accept it. As long as her mother visited her on occasion when she needed it or just wanted someone to check in with her. She agreed. It took an hour to explain to her daughter.

And by the next morning, both Crowley and Alana were gone.


End file.
